This old gal had a friend once…

Who said she saved an item of clothing from each decade…thought that was such a cool idea young-me got a storage tote and labeled it ‘Clothes from the past’…

Those daughters of mine got a kick out of the label…thought it was funny…did the wink wink nudge nudge thing with comments like, “Maybe it’s in your(drum roll here) ‘Clothes from the past’ tote.”

And maybe it was, if we were looking for prom dresses from the 70s, pants from the 80s, a jumper from the 90’s, a dress from the 2000’s…

That daughter of mine got a new pair of pants recently…sent a picture, and what would you know, those pants used to be in the ‘Clothes from the past’ tote…

Well not THOSE pants exactly, but pants just like them…high waisted flowered pants…loved the pants…loved, loved, loved the print…and funny thing, once nostalgic-me started thinking about those pants, she started to see that pink flowery print everywhere…

On buses, on chickens, on jackets in restaurants, on jackets in ads…kind of wanted to go back…get those pants out of ‘Clothes from the past’ and join in the fun…

That is, of course, if ‘Clothes from the past’ hadn’t been dismantled during the move…and if belly-blob me could actually squeeze her belly-blobbed waist into a size 6 high waisted pair of pants…

And so it is…some things are best left in the past…or perhaps the past is best left for the future…pass on that torch to that daughter of mine, who apparently likes flowery pants just as much as her mother…
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And those daughters of mine…agree…

This old gal…

Has a friend…a sweet friend…a sweet friend who loves to send cards…birthday cards, holiday cards, cute just-because cards…

Often includes a fun little gift, adorable photos of her pets…a nice note—one recently referring to the two of us as ‘unlikely’ friends…

And that may be, but the two of us are friends nonetheless: walking friends, coffee friends, living in the neighborhood friends…bagel friends, crafting friends, take-Pumpkin-to-the-vet-for-shots friends…

An old soul for sure—a greeting-card-sending old soul, all at the age of 21, who deserves a greeting card today because today is her birthday!

So here it is—just for you, my most unlikely friend, (who actually is a likely friend). Enjoy today’s grand birthday adventure, and here’s to all that 21 has to offer!!
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And those furry friends of yours…agree…

That daughter of mine…

Went on a grand adventure…relax in the Florida sun…see the sites…spend some quality time with that special man of hers…

Enjoyed a day at Universal Studios…sharing photos on that Besties chat…sharks, wizards, and those favorite characters of ours…SpongeBob and Patrick…

A staple in that household when those girls were growing up…books, video games, stuffed plushies galore. They were loved, those two. Spongebob and Patrick…friends…best friends…best friends to the end…

Just like those Besties on that Besties chat…just like that daughter of mine on her grand adventure and the mother of hers cheering her on from afar…

Thirty three years ago, we became an us…two peas in a pod…ping and pong…mother and daughter…so many adventures…so many memories…

And today mama-me celebrates her first of three best friends…soon to be a mother herself…soon to be gifted with her own little bestie forever…

So Happy Birthday, dear daughter of mine…

And just like Spongebob says…
“You will never know the true value of a moment until it becomes a memory.”
And that moment for mama-me, has been every moment spent with you…
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And that husband of mine…agrees…

That husband of mine said…

You better eat that can of hash in the cupboard before it expires…which kicked off a conversation that started like this…

Her…it’s not MY can of hash. I didn’t buy it.
Him…it’s not MY can of hash. I hate hash.

And so the mystery of the can of hash began…neither of us wanting to take ownership of the foul beast…

That mother of mine made hash…leftover roast beef…potatoes…onions…grind together in one of those metal meat grinders…fry up in a dab of butter…

It was tasty—so much so, mama-me made it for those daughters of hers in much the same way…

But regardless of hash history…this was indeed a hash mystery…for one of us knows she would never…never ever ever…buy hash in a can…

And so it was time to hash things out…

Because writer me remembers writing about this can of hash…joking about impulse buys…two old folks going to Menards for toilet bolts one of us coming out with a llama doodad the other picking up Spam in a bag and other interesting foods…

Found the picture…October 2022…there it was…that can of hash riding merrily across the conveyor belt…proof enough for the other one of us to begrudgingly own it…

And so it is…in life…a picture is worth a thousand words…or maybe in this case just six…six clear decision making words…

Throw the hash…in the trash…
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And this husband of mine…agrees…

Little-me…

Wore hand sewn clothes most of elementary school…was fine with it until that thing called double knit polyester came into fad…

Couldn’t stand the stuff…the texture…the feel…it was suffocating…made little-me sweat…made little-me yearn for a pair of pants…store-bought pants…pants like the other girls were wearing…

And in fourth grade it happened…purple…crushed corduroy…silver studs down the side of each leg…they were amazing…

Until reading group…sitting in chairs in a circle…reading book on the lap…ink pen in the hand…one of us started tickling her leg under the book…the tip of the pen making circles on the soft purple fabric…

Around and around and around and around…relaxing…soothing…until the book was lifted and tickling-me realized the tip of the pen was not retracted and that amazing purple pant leg was covered in ink…

And one of us fell apart…panicked…sobbed hysterically, afraid of how that mom of hers would react…

Which was not as expected…no blow up…no meltdown…no upsetting guilt…just spray the ink with hairspray and throw it in the wash…

And so it is…in life…some things aren’t as bad as we fear…have faith…stay strong…and check the lids on your pens—just to be safe…

And that husband of mine…agrees…

This old gal…

Is forgetting things…not big things…not important things…not like faces or names or knowing how to cook (that issue comes from current lack of practice)…

It’s the little things…things from the past…things younger me would be sure she’d never forget…

Spied a doodad in a shop at Christmastime…cute, ceramic, bread dish or candy dish…loved it immediately…

And recognized it, too…had one once…just about like it…displayed it at school…made tiny pumpkin breads…put candy corn in it…but couldn’t remember where it was…or even IF it was anymore…

Same thing with a mug of the past…saw it scrolling through photos…loved that mug…the perfect fit…the cutest logo…used it almost exclusively…but what happened to it?…

Would not have gotten rid of it…perhaps it broke…or maybe it’s stored in a tub somewhere with that mini-loaf pan…sad…lonely…feeling abandoned…

And so it is…in life…the Clean and Purge, along with cleaning and purging, becomes the hunt for closure…the quest for remembering…and with age, that Shit I Don’t Remember Journal works its way to the forefront…seems a little more important…

But the question still remains…how does one know, down the road, what shit you’ll want to remember…and what shit you’ll prefer to forget?…
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And this husband of mine…agrees…

This old gal…

Has been on a quest…a search…a hunt…a gotta-find pizza, just like, almost like, even just a little bit like…that pizza she left behind four years ago…

Ate it once a week for forty years…sometimes twice…sometimes more than that when working at the place…the pizza place that brother of mine owns…

Pizza Haus pizza…watched as he’s honed the craft…the pizza making craft…fresh cheese…homemade crust…breads and sandwiches and homemade chocolate chip cookies…

But nothing compares…nothing…not a thing…not one pizza pie thing…looked high and low…far and wide…different cities…different states…

But that Pizza Haus pizza cannot be matched—just like that brother of mine. It’s unique, special, one-of-a-kind, just like that brother of mine. It’s iconic, irreplaceable, unforgettable—just like that brother of mine…

And so today we celebrate that pizza and that brother of mine and wish him a birthday almost as wonderful as that food he makes…

Happy Birthday, dear Pizza Man…you are loved…you are appreciated…you are missed—just as much as that Canadian bacon and kraut with the perfectly browned crust.

Maybe even more…
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And those daughters of mine…agree…

That mother of mine…

Was an artist with a needle and thread…could sew anything…could alter anything…every evening found her creating something at that sewing machine of hers…

Dresses, shorts, costumes for little me…blazers, baby quilts, swaddling blankets as the years went on…

Made clothes for her mother…costumes for the high school play…did alterations for anyone and everyone in town who asked…

Worked at So-Fro after retirement, offering knowledge and expertise to those who came into the shop…

Sewing was her first love…she was a master…

And every year, during the clean and purge, this daughter of hers thinks of how talented she was…admiring those last two items she made before she died…

Blazers…soft blazers…comfy blazers…one for this old gal…and one for that first born daughter of mine…treasures from the past made especially for us…

And so it is…in life…find your passion…share your passion…bring joy to others and leave a legacy…

Leave a legacy…just like Susan…
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And those daughters of mine…agree…

This old gal…

Came across some extra treasured treasures…quilts…cute quilts…cute baby quilts from when that first daughter of mine was born…

Tucked away for years…waiting…waiting for the day that maybe they’d be wanted…passed down…cherished as much as they were by young-mama-me…

And that’s when the struggle began…the Tik Tok struggle…those clips of kids making a joke about not wanting their mom’s stuff…not wanting what’s in that old memory box…

So played it cool…sent a photo…gave details…the patchwork quilt a gift from a friend…the other one hand crafted by that grandmother of theirs…

Kept it light with, ‘No pressure. If you want these, I’ll send them. Blah blah blah’…added a funny photo of an old Mickey Mouse T-shirt from the 80’s…make it look like it’s not all about the cherished baby blankets…

And within seconds came the reply…not from that sweet mother-to-be, but from her sister…her younger sister…her crafty, younger sister who knew just what to say…

“These are beautiful,” she said, “and so special. Send them to me and if she doesn’t use them for blankets I will repurpose them into something else—like a tote bag or something.”

Repurpose them into something else…make something old new again…

And so it is…in life…see something with new eyes…a friendship…a relationship…two baby blankets from days gone by…

And maybe that Mickey Mouse T-shirt…packed in that box with those quilts…a gift to that baby girl of mine who treasures treasures about as much as that mother of hers…
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And that daughter of mine…agrees…

That daughter of mine…

Was in a play…a junior high play…a musical, in fact, about the princess and the pea…

Often think of this in the morning…during bed making time…always felt accomplished as a bed maker…skilled even…been making beds since the age of ten…

But during these years of marriage, have learned to defer to the man of the house, because one of us, apparently, fails to follow bed making rules…

Didn’t know there WERE bed making rules…was baffled, to be honest…the top sheet smooth…the blanket aligned…the bedspread and pillows neat and tidy…but still, things didn’t seem to measure up…

And then, one day, making the bed as a team—he on one side, she on the other—the lightening bolt struck, and it was suddenly clear to slow-to-catch-on-me…

It’s not about the top covers at all…it’s about the bottom…the mattress pad…the fitted sheet…because one of us…and he shall remain nameless…is a princess…or like a princess…or like THE princess in that tale of the Princess and the Pea…

Feels every bump and bulge and crumb lying beneath him…and, sometimes, it keeps everyone awake…

And so it is…in life…we all have our thing…one of us can’t stand the heat, the other can’t stand the lumps…and it just goes to show…
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You don’t need a stage…to have a little drama…

And that husband of mine...agrees...